When he tried to lower his uncle to the floor of the burrow, he found that the body had become almost completely limp. Thomas lay on his back, his eyes staring without curiosity at the rounded ceiling upon which his forehead glow-lamp outlined a bright circular patch. The heartbeat was very, very faint. "Eric," he heard a weak voice say. He raised his eyes from his uncle's chest and looked at the painfully working mouth. "Yes, uncle?" "I'm sorry--about--what I got you into. I had--no right. Your life--after all--your life. You--my wives--the band. I led--death--everyone. I'm sorry." Eric fought hard to hold back his tears. "It was for a reason, Uncle Thomas," he said. "We had a cause. It wasn't just you. The cause failed." There was a hideous cackle from the prone man. For a moment, Eric thought it was a death rattle. Then he realized that it had been a laugh, but such a laugh as he had never heard before. "A cause?" the Trap-Smasher gasped. "A cause? Do you know--do you--know what--the cause was? I wanted--wanted to be chief. Chief. The only--only way I could--do it--Alien-science--the Strangers--a cause. Everyone--the killings--I wanted to--to be chief. _Chief!_" He went rigid as he coughed out the last word. Then slowly, like flesh turning into liquid, he relaxed. He was dead. * * * * * Eric stared at the body a long time. It didn't make any difference, he found. The numbness in his mind remained. There was a great paralyzed spot in the center of his brain that was unable to think or to feel. In the end, he shook himself, bent down and grabbed the body by the shoulders. Walking backwards, he dragged it in the direction of Monster territory. Something he had to do. The duty of anyone who lived in the burrows when death occurred in his neighborhood. Now it filled time and used up energies that he might otherwise have expended in thoughts which were agonizing. The energies which it demanded were almost more than he was capable of at this point. His uncle had been a heavy, well built man. Eric found that he had to stop at the end of almost every curving corridor and get his breath back. He finally arrived at the doorway, grateful for the fact that his uncle had died so relatively close to it. He also felt he understood why this had been suggested as their destination. Thomas the Trap-Smasher had known he had little time left. His nephew would have the responsibility of sewering him. He had tried to make it as easy for Eric as possible by going the greater part of the distance on his own feet.